It was a dream, one that would take a lot of work and even more answers. But for now, she savored it, tasting and licking his mouth. He was hunger and passion, his tongue tangling with hers with a ferocity that curled her toes.
He swung her around, and hard wood met her back. She lifted her gaze to a ceiling of leaves and ripe yellow lemons. Laughter burst from her chest, shaking her against the tree trunk and breaking the kiss.
His hand swept through her hair as he studied her intently, smiling. “What?”
“Kissing me in a lemon grove, Matias?” She shook her head, grinning wider. “I guess if it worked the first time…”
“And the time after that.” He kissed her. “And the next time.” Another kiss. “Every time, Camila. You’ve never denied me in our grove.”
“No. I suppose I haven’t.”
The crunch of shoes on gravel sounded behind him, and he sighed, resting his lips against her brow.
“Guess she likes you better than me.” Nico stepped off the path, stopping a couple feet away, hands in his pockets and a strange look on his face.
She untangled herself from Matias and shifted away from them.
“You knew what he was going to offer me,” she said to Matias.
“Yes.” He held his hands behind his back.
“What if I had agreed?” She kept her tone quiet, more curious than accusatory.
His eyes slid to Nico, and they shared one of those unspoken looks she couldn’t begin to decipher.
These assholes had planned this, all of it, to test her. More specifically, Matias had set it up. Why would Nico go along with it? What did he gain from it? Something about their relationship niggled, and she couldn’t put her finger on it.
She backed up a couple steps so she could study them side by side.
Nico was a hard one to decode with his shroud of suits and disinterest. He was a couple inches shorter, maybe ten pounds smaller than Matias, and around the same age. Nico’s complexion was a shade fairer, his scowl a hundred times darker, and he was intimidating in the mysterious way he was always inconspicuously watching, always present. Like a guard.
Contrarily, Matias was jeans and guns and hot-blooded temper, but he didn’t carry the vigilance of a sentinel—which she assumed was one of his jobs. In fact, he had a slew of guards that followed him everywhere.
“Why do you need armed chaperons?” She narrowed her eyes at Matias.
“I know things.”
“What things?” She ground her teeth.
“Important things that require security.”
“You give me answers that tell me nothing.” She rubbed her head. “What is your job in the cartel?”
Nico cleared his throat, drawing her gaze. He looked away, and she swore a smile touched the corner of his mouth. That was weird. And why was his shoe scuffing the ground?
Because Nico’s not who he says he is.
“All this time, I thought he was your boss.” She pointed at Nico with her eyes on Matias. “But he’s not.”
“Not exactly.” Matias scratched the back of his neck. “We’re close.”
“Close like besties? Or brothers?” She watched them carefully, looking for reactions. “Lovers?”
“No,” they said in unison then laughed uncomfortably.
She turned her attention to Nico, who was just standing here instead of hurrying off to run the cartel. Hell, the man spent the majority of his time up Matias’ ass. And Matias walked around like he owned the joint, building citrus groves and silencing rooms just by stepping through the door. Then there was his extravagant suite that only a few people had access to. She’d never entered Nico’s personal space, but from the outside, it looked like Matias’ wing was the prime real estate with the best views.
Nico appeared to hold authority over everyone who lived here, barking orders and sending people scuttling. But when he was alone with Matias, the dynamic between them flipped.
Like now. The three of them stood there, as if waiting for instruction, for someone to say Let’s go. Naturally, she looked to Matias.
But so did Nico.
Light bulbs went off in her head, and her mouth dried as she aligned the pieces. “Who owns this property?”
“Hector Restrepo built it.” Matias leaned a shoulder against the tree trunk, his timbre as steady as his eyes.
She’d heard stories about the old capo in the news and whispers in the halls during her stay here. Apparently, he was a brutal bastard. Was. Hector was dead.
“You’re not Hector’s son, are you?” She directed the question at Nico, but holy hell, she was certain she knew the answer.
He glanced at Matias.
“See, he’s looking at you!” She turned to Matias, heart hammering. “Because you’re the one making decisions around here.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “Who are you?”
“You already know.” Matias stared at her, his unblinking gaze knocking the air from her lungs.
He’s the boss.
Matias is the goddamn kingpin.
What better way to protect the capo than to make everyone think someone else was the capo? How had she missed this?
“If you’re not the second in command…” She glared at Matias then looked at Nico. “You are.”
“Told you she’d find out.” Nico scrubbed a hand over his head and scanned the surrounding trees.
“I need to hear you say it.” She swayed as her stomach bucked in denial. “Say it, goddammit.”
“I’m Matias Restrepo.” The name rolled off Matias’ lips with mellifluous possession.
Her face numbed with icy prickles. “You’re Matias Guerra.”
Matias Guerra, the boy she’d spent her childhood with. Camila Guerra, the name she’d doodled on all of her school folders.
Her mind swam, and her pulse spiked. Christ, she’d grown up with a Restrepo family member? And he’d inherited this estate? This business?
“I’m Nico Bianchi.” Nico held out a hand. “Matias’ adviser, personal guard, and decoy.”
Decoy echoed through her head. She stared at his offered hand, refusing to touch it, her muscles too stiff and heavy.
Her chest heaved as she peered up at Matias through her
